


I'll Follow You

by Star (docfics)



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Diary/Journal, Divergent Timelines, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Moral Ambiguity, Porn With Plot, Slow Burn, Temporary Character Death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-10-10
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:34:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,638
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/docfics/pseuds/Star
Summary: Jesse Mccree was pulled by his collar out of the dregs of Deadlock, lip bleeding, eye black and blue and swearing on his dead father's grave that he'll take down Gabriel Reyes himself. Three years have passed and every single day he becomes a bigger thorn in Gabriel's side, and an even bigger asset to his team—and his everyday life
But when Overwatch and Blackwatch begin to crumble and Gabriel's life is in danger, he realizes there's nothing left to do but run.And he knows Jesse Mccree will follow right behind.





	1. Beginning

_Jesse Mccree was pulled by his collar out of the dregs of Deadlock, lip bleeding, eye black and blue and swearing on his dead father's grave that he'll take down Gabriel Reyes himself._

_Three years have passed and every single day he becomes a bigger thorn in Gabriel's side, and an even bigger asset to his team—and his everyday life. Mccree is the one who makes Gabriel grit his teeth in frustration and impatience, makes him want to slap the kid—and makes his heart soar with pride when Jesse lands three clear shots in the bullseye of a target._

_Mccree is the one who has fallen asleep, with Gabriel's arms slung lightly over him to ward off all the nightmares. Gabriel watches his back, while Jesse keeps his gun pressed tightly to his chest, finger resting right near the trigger. These are the most peaceful nights, where they protect each other from the terrors that grip the members of Blackwatch and suffocates all pleasant thoughts from their sleep._

_Mccree has kept a journal of the events that have led up to the current day. Laying in his bed, pencil between his lips—he decides to flip through the entries. Things have been rough, tension is in the air, so a recap of the past is welcome._

**Day 1:**

Fuck these guys. Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ I knew better than this. How am I going to escape? How am I going to get back to Deadlock?  
They say they're giving me a chance but how do I know they're not lying?  
Am I going to fucking die?  
“Commander” Reyes looks at me like he sees something in me that I've never seen in myself.  
I don't like it.

**Day 3:**

Not dead yet. At least the food here is good.  
Everyone gives me the shit eye. They can go fuck themselves. My bedroom isn't....small, actually. It's kind of spacious. Not like I have anything to fill it with. Maybe I'll color on the walls. That'd piss 'em off.

**Day 4:**

I lied. The food sucks today. Totally bland. Only the one guy, Morrison or whatever seemed to like it. White as hell. He's the guy who probably thinks salt is a spice.  
He avoids looking at me when he can. Yeah, he smiles when he sees me staring, but that's about it. I don't like him. He's a guy whose probably had it easy his whole life, so I dunno why he's so defensive.  
Oh wait, might have to do that I'm from an Evil Terrible Gang.  
I have a feeling if it was up to him, I wouldn't be here.  
Wonder how Reyes convinced him?

**Day 7:**

Shit eye continues. I just glare at 'em right back. I never asked to be here. I miss everyone. I wonder if they're out looking for me.  
(Of course they're not. We all said that if someone was captured, that's their own damn fault. Family is family but safety and your own damn life come first when it all comes down to it.)

**Day 10:**

Reyes wants me to start combat practice now that I've recovered. From what? Being captured? Fuck you, “commander.”

**Day 11:**

TRAINING SUCKS ASS

**Day 12:**

I'm so sore. I'm so fucking sore. All I did was get my ass whipped by Reyes. What does he do, put fucking lead in his shoes?

**Day 13:**

Ana slid me some cumin and coriander today over the table. I don't know if it's out of pity or genuine kindness, but either way, thank god. If I had to eat plain white rice or unseasoned chicken one more time, I think I would have cried.

**Day 21:**

Sorry I haven't written for a while. Been busy training. Yeah, I know I said it sucks ass. And it does. But I was tired of Reyes shitting all over me. I almost got his knees out from under him. _Almost._ Fucker clocked me in the head good, though. Still stings.  
But hey.  
Almost.

**Day 22:**

Ana slid me some oregano this time. We even ate lunch together. She kind of reminds me of my ma. She's sweet but not a softie, she holds her own. Her kid is fucking adorable. Loves to doodle birds and shit on a napkin. Says when she grows up “she wants to be a bird.”  
That'd be cool. You just fly away from everything.  
I could fly away from here.

**Day 25:**

I miss Deadlock. And yet...I keep remembering bad things. Memories I've stuffed away about how poorly they operated, the little fights and scrabbles we got into that would lead to feeling so shitty the rest of the night.  
That's what a family is, but...maybe we did it more often than I thought?

**Day 28:**

Commander Reyes told me “good job” today because I nailed three targets in a row.

Felt kind of good to hear that.  
Fuck, that sounded gay.

**Day 31:**

A month has passed and Ana and her kid are still my only lunchmates. It shouldn't hurt, but it kind of does. Like I get it, I get it, I'm the bratty kid from a gang they can't trust.  
But if I make Ana laugh, I bet I can make the others laugh.

**Day 33:**

Asked Reinhardt to sit with us at lunch. He actually seemed delighted. Told him my cactus joke and I thought he was going to break the table, he was slapping it so hard and laughing this big, comforting laugh. Everyone at the table started to giggle, then we all broke into full out giggles and shit. It was really, really nice. My jaw hurts a little from smiling.

**Day 36:**

I did it, I fucking did it. I knocked Reyes' legs out from underneath him. I couldn't believe it—it was kind of terrifying?? He just got up—wiped a little blood out of his nose—and just looked at me with this...smirk. Almost kind of proud? He just grunts out another “good job” and I don't know just. Fuck me. His voice is so deep and gravelly?  
Fuuuuuuuck me.

**Day 37:**

Reyes sat with us today at lunch. He was mostly quiet and I was mostly a fool. Kept saying shit to make him laugh, didn't get a laugh out at him, so I started making jabs. Those got his attention, and everyone just kind of listened to us go at it for the next five minutes.  
Reyes left the table fuming and smacked me on the head later when he saw me.  
I think I'm starting to fit in here.  
My head still kind of hurts.

**Day 41:**

Reinhardt gave me an extra poster of one of his favorite singers. So now I have a poster in my room.  
Of David Hasselhoff.  
I wonder when I can go shopping.

**Day 42:**

Sometimes I close my eyes and I try and think of them. They were like my family, but they're already fading from my mind...  
Is that bad?  
Am I bad?  
Were they ever that important to me, or did I pretend like they were?  
Jesus...  
I'm overthinking.

**Day 45:**  
Movie night. Some kind of stupid romcom. Commander Reyes sits next to me and we end up making fun of the movie the entire time. I could see Jack glaring at us.  
My face hurts from smiling.  
Reyes is pretty damn funny.  
When he's not kicking my ass, I like spending time with him.

**Week 8:**

Started using weeks, since it looks like I'm in here for the long haul. Haven't written in a while...it feels too uh. What's the word? Melancholy? I dunno. Anyway, it's just like...  
I keep feeling like I'm home. And yeah, that should feel good.  
But I felt at home in Deadlock, and then I was yanked out of it. Sure, I chose to stay here...sure, I could technically leave at any time. I'd be wanted, but that's no different than anything before.  
But sometimes it feels _better_ than Deadlock. And it hurts to say that. But Ana gives me a gift, Reinhardt slaps me on the back, Mercy will ask me how I'm doing and it feels like I'm finally part of something. Something that's actually doing good.  
And...  
Gabriel smiles at me and I suddenly just want to stay here for the rest of my life.

_The rest of the pages don't interest Jesse—he browses through them until his gaze lands on a particularly emotional memory._

  
**Week 23:**

My first day on the field. Like, the field field. Not the backup of the backup, Reyes chose me to be on his actual taskforce. I'm excited. I'm scared. I'm feeling some other shit I don't even want you to know, diary, because I'm fucking disgusting.  
ANYWAY. My head is buzzing. I'll let you know how it goes tomorrow, unless I'm dead.  
So yeah. Wish me luck.

**[Next day]**

I didn't die.  
I saved someone's life.  
It shouldn't be that important. I've done it before.  
Except it was his.  
I can barely remember. It's a blur, but there was some simple mistake. Some guy snuck past us, came up behind Gabriel and put a fucking gun right to the back of his head and he was about to pull it and...  
What if I hadn't turned in time?  
I never felt that scared before.  
Peacekeeper took care of him, but my heart didn't stop pounding and it still hasn't. Gabriel was quiet on the way home, everything was tense for us while everyone else was laughing and joking because they hadn't seen it but I did, I saw our commander almost die in front of my eyes.  
It's hard to process but there's something deep inside me that I think would break if Gabriel dies. Because...  
On our way home, I thought of Deadlock and I realized there was no one from Deadlock who could have died that would have made me feel like this. No, Gabriel is like—a savior in my eyes. I know that's sappy and stupid but I'm realizing more and more, even if Deadlock was good for the time being, that it wasn't going to last but...  
But I would have stayed with it till I died and never seen anything outside of it.  
Gabriel saved me from that life.  
If I can keep Gabriel and all my friends alive...  
I think this could last.

**[Next next day]**

Last entry was sappy as hell but I still mean it. It's only been a few months but I think I've found a family.

_Jesse skips ahead a few months, because the rest is filler, of little events here and there. He smiles at a few of them, but now he's thinking about Gabriel. And that leads him to the next couple of entries._

**Week 33**

Do I stare at him too much? Does he notice I look at him like he's...a heavenly being? Oh god, gay. Gay gay gay.  
But I notice all the little things. When he laughs at own of my jokes. When he cuffs me on the back of the head and his hand stays there for just a moment too long, tangled in my locks and fuck am I imagining shit? Probably.

I hope he never sees when I glance his way in the shower.  
I'm acting like an idiot.

**Week 34**

There was something great about tonight. We all chipped in for pizza, tons of pizza and we just ate and laughed and we may have snuck a few beers in and I don't remember much after that because it was fuzzy, but I woke up and I was asleep on Gabriel's lap and honestly I feel blessed to be here.

**Week 40**

I always made fun of Gabe for never taking off his beanie. Said he was bald and shit. He finally took it off to show me once and he actually had great hair.  
The next day, it occurred to me that his beanie was probably like my hat, kind of like a comfort blanket. I got it then.  
Point is, he lost his beanie today. Not exactly “lost” but it was singed beyond repair in an explosion today... I feel bad.

**[Next day]**

I can tell Gabe is really upset he lost his beanie. He acts like everything is fine but I keep seeing him reach up and feel that it's not there.  
So I gave him my hat. He made fun of me but wore it anyway. I'm fucking gay and I love his smile, even if he insulted how dirty it is.

**Week 41**

I got a chance to go out and get Gabe a new beanie today. He was dead silent when I handed it to him, but after he put it on...he reached out and gave me a huge hug.  
I haven't seen him take it off since.  
...I still feel his arms around me.

 

**Week 47**

I haven't written in a while, diary. There's a reason for it.  
I...  
fuck.  
FUCK.

It makes me angry to think about it. I'm still so pissed, still recovering from a stupid mistake but at least I'm alive  
Let me start from the beginning.

We were on the field. It should have been a simple mission—stop some weapon trafficking. Gabe brought me along because of my, hah, previous experience. We were almost done—bad guys captured, weapons being categorized—when the bomb went off.

It was chaos. Building is crumbling, Gabe's yelling at everyone to get out—then we get blocked off. Huge chunk of wall falls between us and I'm knocked back, separated by him and...  
I was in shock. All my training and I just saw there in shock...a few seconds that could have changed a lot.  
I got up to find an escape, and the rest is a blur. Crashing. Horrendous pain. It fades and I can't feel my arm.  
I would have bled out. I would have died right there. I should have—because sometimes people get left behind, the safety of the ones who are most definitely alive come first.

But guess who saved me?

Gabriel Reyes. My guardian angel.

I remember his strong arms. Whispering—he was worried. He was so worried. For me, just some scruffy kid he picked up off the streets. I was fading in and out, but I remember him cradling me in his arms, my face against a warm chest...he didn't even care I was bleeding on him. He just kept muttering “don't leave me.”

I would never, Gabe.

We made it back. I held on for him. I don't even want to recall it all, the pain was unlike anything I had ever experienced.  
I went in for surgery, and when I came out...I was told the arm wasn't able to be salvaged.  
A prosthetic was the only answer.  
It was a hard decision. I've always been proud of the work I've done with my hands. (Wink wink) But no. Really. Not just a hand, but an entire arm. It's a lot to replace with a hunk of metal.

But he was there the entire time. Physical therapy was a bitch, getting used to the prosthetic was a bitch—Gabe? Gabe was not a bitch. Sure, we still ragged on each other—but he was at my bed every moment he could spare. Joking with me, keeping my spirits up—training with me when I was back on my feet. Asshole didn't even take it easy on me once we started sparring. Heh.

...I'd be dead if it wasn't for him.  
How could I ever leave him?

I love him.


	2. Liquor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jesse drags Gabe away from his workload and into a night of complicated feelings and alcohol.

Present day, it's been a stressful week at Overwatch, and that means it's been even worse at Blackwatch. A perfect time to go bug Gabriel and grace him with Mccree's much-needed presence. Jesse stows his journal away and hops off the bed, heading towards Gabriel's office.

“Howdy.” Mccree makes his presence known by leaning against Gabriel's desk, the maple wood digging slightly against the solid gold of his belt buckle. He dips his head into the curve of his hand, elbow propped against the table so it supports his body. Thick eyelashes curve over his curious gaze as he stares up from underneath the brim of his hat, willing his commander to look his way. Gabriel doesn't, of course—so Jesse leans over a little more, close to a 90 degree angle as he gazes up into Gabriel's stern face. Gabriel glances to the side, as if the paperwork he's doing is, and always will be, more interesting than the man in front of him.

Jesse doesn't buy it. He clicks his tongue, fidgets a little, and is a general nuisance until Gabriel finally throws up his hands in frustration, slamming them back down on the table and leaning towards Jesse. Gabriel's mouth quirks up into a frustrated smirk, and he leans forward, sliding his chin onto the back of both his hands. 

“What the _fuck_ do you want, Mccree.” Gabriel growls, and Mccree hides a smile by tilting his head down. He makes himself comfortable—hops up on Gabriel's desk and takes a pencil, twirling it between his fingers with a playful hum.

“You need a break.” Mccree starts, jutting out his upper lip and attempting to balance the pencil on his upper lip. It fails, and Gabriel scoffs, which just prompts Mccree to continue. 

“Things have been shitty. We should go to a bar. Or a strip club. Or a strip club, with a bar. Hell, we can go to Chuck E Cheeses if it makes you feel better!” Mccree gives up on the pencil, letting it drop back onto Gabriel's desk as he finishes talking. 

Gabriel sighs, moving both his hands to rub at his temples. “Chuck E Cheese hasn't been around for a solid seventy years if not more, Jesse.”

It's Mccree's turn to scoff, because of _course_ that's the piece of info his boss decides to comment on. It just shows that Gabriel is more tired than he originally thought.

“Come on.” Mccree holds out his hand, curling his fingers up enticingly to give Gabriel a place to grip. His commander eyeballs his hand with grand suspicion, as if taking it will surely lead him to some kind of trouble. Which, when Mccree is involved, isn't too far of a stretch. 

But he does take it—thick, calloused fingers curling tightly around Jesse's long, slender ones—and Jesse pulls him up with a grunt, sliding off the desk all while refusing to let go of the other man's hand. His grip is solid while Gabriel walks around the side of the desk, only letting go when Gabriel pulls away to let his hand drop to his side. Jesse finds himself mourning the loss of contact, but he doesn't linger on it, just cocks his hips to the side and raises an eyebrow at Gabriel. “So, what'll it be, boss?”

Gabriel lets out a drawn-out sigh and crosses his arms, a strict contrast to Jesse's carefree pose. “I don't know—a bar? That way I only have to drag you home when you're drunk, not find you the next morning at some stranger's house and _then_ drag you home.”

Jesse's cheeks twitch up into a grin, and he slaps Gabriel on the shoulder, pleased that the man doesn't flinch anymore from Jesse's contact. “I might find someone at the bar, you never know. But I'd rather go home with you, _bawse._ ” He drags it out, syrupy and thick and watches as Gabriel gags, rolls his eyes and turns away. Jesse watches him as he turns, and is rewarded with seeing a smile slip onto his lips as soon as he thinks Jesse isn't looking.

“You're a mess, Jesse Mccree.” Gabriel grunts, and Jesse laughs, a loud “haw” that rings throughout the room.

\---

They leave an hour later to find the nearest bar, and Jesse orders them two drinks and “whatever is best from the menu.” Halfway through his first beer, with rib sauce staining his beard and a mostly-clean bone in his hands, Gabriel is already feeling the stress melt away. He knows very well it's not the alcohol—he doesn't get a buzz going from half a beer. And the ribs are good, but not _amazing._.

No, it's Jesse Mccree. The way he talks and laughs like the weight of the world isn't on their shoulders—spilling his beer a little as he waves his hands around, entertaining Gabriel with some weird sex story from his youth. Gabriel can't stop laughing—everything Jesse says is funny. It's not so much the context, it's the way Jesse laughs at his own jokes and bats his eyelashes in that odd, flirtatious way of his that makes Gabriel's heart drop a little further into his stomach.

\---

Jesse can see Gabriel's smile, because it brightens his world like no candle, no light ever has. He hardly registers what he's even saying—he's too captivated by white teeth, the uncombed hairs on Gabriel's beard and the fact he just hasn't stopped smiling.

“—So then we _never_ find the carrot, and I'm kind of glad, because I don't think I would have wanted to see the condition it was in.” Jesse snorts, then takes a large swig of his beer, draining the last bits before slamming the glass back down on the table. Gabriel is shaking his head, looking both disgusted and amused, and he tears the last bit of meat off his rib-bone.

“That's fucking disgusting, Jesse.” Gabriel replies, and Jesse gives him the biggest shit-eating grin he possibly can. 

“There's more, but I'll save it for another day. Do you like the ribs?” Gabriel is about to answer, but Jesse hops up out of his seat before he can reply. “Be right back. Gonna get us another round.” He's off in a flash, and back just as quick—this time with four beers. “Saves a trip.” He explains, and Gabriel shakes his head in disbelief.

“Thinking ahead. The ribs are great, by the way.” Gabriel replies, picking up another one and going at it. Jesse picks up another one of his chicken fingers—the choice of dinner having garnered some teasing from Gabriel earlier. Whatever, chicken fingers were great.

“We need to do this more often. Maybe invite a few friends—well, whoever you can stand. Do you like Genji?” Jesse inquires, taking a bite out of his meal.

Gabriel shrugs. “He's alright. So are a lot of the people we work with. But...” He glances up from beneath his eyelashes, a look Jesse knows isn't as nonchalant as Gabriel wants it to be. “It's nice just spending time with you. Easier to relax.”

The rush of pride that flows through Jesse's veins is fast and heavy, making him duck his head a little, one hand going up to tip his hat. A nervous habit that he knows Gabe recognizes. “Shucks—well, that's mighty fine of you to say.” He hears Gabriel's chuckle and that makes him even more flustered, heat rushing up to meld with the pink the alcohol has brought to his cheeks.

The rest of their conversation is casual banter, playful jokes directed at each other and occasionally their teammates. Four drinks in and Jesse is bordering on drunk and Gabriel has a pleasant buzz going. Jesse has just gotten his fifth drink and is having trouble opening it—so Gabriel reaches over, hyperaware of how their fingers press together as he uncaps the beer for Jesse.

“Alwwwaysss there for me, Gabi.” Jesse slurs, tilting the beer back and spilling a little onto his shirt. He laughs, loud enough to mix in with the other drunken folks at the bar, but his expression changes with a head tilt. “Hey—d'ya hear that? Music?”

Gabriel decides not to mention that a live band has been playing for the past 20 minutes, and just nods in confirmation. “I like it. Good background noise.”

Jesse licks some sauce off his fingers before he stands up, bumping the table and almost spilling both their drinks. “I have a great idea—let's dance!” He offers his hand to Gabriel, who eyeballs it with the same amount of distrust he had earlier in the day.

“I don't want to dance, Jesse. That's the opposite of relaxing.” He grunts, Jesse's hand hanging limply in the air.

“Oh, come oooon. It'll be fun. We drink, we eat, then we shake to the beat!” Gabriel rolls his eyes at the obnoxious rhyme, but Jesse keeps talking. “You should see me dance when I'm drunk—I'm drunk, right? I think I'm drunk.” He laughs, wiggling his fingers to try and convince his boss to take his hand. “I'm fun, it'll be a blast, let's just do it! Hell, I'm gonna do it whether you're going to join me or not.” And with that, he saunters out to join the crowd of people who have already began dancing, his walk too close to a strut for Gabriel's liking.

Really, Jesse knows Gabriel would love to sit there until they left—but him and his boss both know that if Jesse is left to his own devices, it'll lead right to the “someone takes him home then he gets dragged back to base by Gabe” situation that was predicted. And that's why Jesse suddenly feels Gabriel come right up behind him. It's not surprising—but what is surprising is when Jesse stumbles, and Gabriel's hand lands right on his hip to support him—and then the hand stays there, guiding Jesse throughout the dance floor to a less crowded corner.

“Awww, are you...are you watchin' over me, Gabi?” Jesse croons, alcohol fueling the decision to sling an arm around Gabriel's shoulder. Another surprise is that Gabriel doesn't pull away—just supports Jesse, first with a hand, now with his shoulder.

“Someone has to. Look at you—only four beers and you're a mess.” Gabriel shakes his head, before his gaze settles on the smirk slowly growing on Jesse's face. “...Jesse, oh god—you so did not—!”

“Steal people's half finished drinks? Maaaaaaaay have.” Jesse giggles, and Gabriel blinks in shock at the confession.

“Damnit, Jesse, we've had this conversation before. I thought that you stopped doing that!” Gabriel's confused look becomes a glare, but Jesse just laughs and waves the lecture off. He wraps his hands around Gabriel's neck as the laughter continues, hanging his weight off Gabriel and forcing the larger man to hold him up. Gabriel huffs loudly as Jesse hangs from him like a sloth on a branch, but his irritation is cut short as the smaller man shoves his face into Gabriel's neck—scruff tickling the very top of Gabriel's collarbone as Jesse exhales heavily.

“Don't be mad at me, pardner—I got all nervous cus I wanted you to have a good time, so I snagged a few things off the table. Promise I haven't normally been doing it.” Jesse glances up at Gabriel, batting his eyelashes at him—the full effect lost because of the drunken, lopsided grin on his face. “But we should dance. Please dance with me, Gabi?” He begs, tightening his grip onto the other.

He's rewarded with Gabriel letting out a slow sigh that melts into a little smile, pulling Jesse out of the vicegrip he has around his neck. Jesse's hands are slid down Gabriel's arms and into his boss' own hands, warmth heating up the cowboy's hands—both flesh and metal.

Everyone around them is dancing wildly—bouncing up and down, grinding a little, bumping into their friends and strangers, but the sound becomes a dull pounding as Jesse looks up into Gabriel's eyes, feels Gabriel lift his hand up—and spin him. Jesse's laughter rings throughout the crowd as he spins on his heels, the spin an introduction to Jesse starting to dance around Gabriel. Jesse really does all the dancing—Gabriel catches him before he falls and smiles enough that it inspires Jesse to keep tossing himself around on the dance floor.

The rest is a blur of laughter and smirking and finally ending with Jesse landing flat on his face between a group of college kids. Gabriel hoists him up and they both decide that's enough for the night, because Jesse is starting to crash and there's blood dripping from where he smashed his lip. Gabriel presses a napkin to it and holds back a lecture. They both know Jesse isn't going to listen.

They rent a cab (Gabriel will pick his car back up in the morning) and Jesse falls asleep on Gabriel halfway through the ride. Curving his head into the crook of his bosses shoulder, it's cute until there's a sizable pool of drool on Gabriel's shirt. 

That's what he gets for drinking with Jesse Mccree.

When they reach the base, he carries Jesse bridal-style. Easier to get inside without Jesse toppling over again. When they reach the cowboy's room, Jesse suddenly startles awake—and grabs Gabriel's shirt almost urgently.

“Shit, I fell asleep—did we have fun? Did _you_ have fun, Gabi? I hope you had fun...fuck, you deserve it. Yer always workin' so hard...” He yawns, fists his hands into the fabric of the shirt. “I really hope I did okay.”

Gabriel can't help but smile, moving a stray strand of hair out of Jesse's face that was threatening to poke him in the eye. “Stop worrying. It was nice.” And it was. Jesse always had a way of calming him down (when he wasn't irritating the piss out of him.) And they know each other, so it's easy to spend time with each other because things aren't surprising—

Gabe is suddenly aware of something against his lips.

Fuck. No surprises, his ass. Jesse Mccree is kissing him.

He doesn't reciprocate—merely stands there in shock before his brain finally kicks into gear, and he brings two fingers up to push Jesse's face away. Tender, but firm. Jesse surprises him again by laughing, loud and almost giddy as he grins up into Gabriel's blown up pupils. 

“Sometimes ya...get this far off look in your eyes, and I got t' do somethin' to pull ya back...so I gave ya a kiss.” Jesse states it like it's an everyday thing, like it's his job to bring Gabriel back to the present. He wraps his hands tighter around Gabriel's neck, feeling the tension that lives there, rubbing his thumb in lazy circles on the nape of Gabriel's neck.

“We need to get you to bed, kid...” Gabriel murmurs, surprise still threaded throughout the softness of his whisper. “You're drunk.” Jesse is well aware this is all logical, but he can't help feeling the closeness they felt tonight drifting away as Gabriel pulls away, hides inside himself.

Jesse pushes his face into Gabriel's shoulder—inhales a little bit of sweat, the faintest aroma of Gabriel's cologne. Not the kind he wears for fancy events—no, this is the “I haven't slept in several days and I'm covering up the scent of lack of shower and bed” cologne. Jesse feels sympathy pound in his head alongside the dull throb the alcohol is pooling into—and he gives the fabric of Gabriel's shirt a small tug.

“Okay, maybe I'm drunk. But...believe me when I say, that...I want you to sleep with me tonight. Just hold me, Gabriel. Y'need sleep, I need sleep...come on.” Jesse speaks to Gabriel's neck as he gives his shirt another tug. “Stay with me, Gabi...”

At first, he feels that maybe Gabriel is ignoring him. But then he feels the soft bump up and down as Gabriel's arms move alongside his feet, and Jesse's heavy eyes, fluttering open and closed, can see his room approaching. He breathes a sigh of relief, followed by a hiccup and a giggle as the alcohol sloshes in his stomach and up into his head. He's trying to stay awake, breath in more of Gabriel and relish every waking second with him—but the warmth radiating from his commander's body coupled with the heavy hold the alcohol has on him is leading him into a comfortable slumber.

He barely remembers the rest of the night, just bits and pieces that float in and out of his mind—Gabriel setting him onto the bed. Gabriel moving threads of hair out of his face, pulling his boots off and tossing them to the side. The bed sinking down next to him as Gabriel settles down on it, warming Jesse's back and lulling him back to sleep. 

When Jesse wakes up, he's got a drill caving his skull in in the form of a hangover and a warm body that tugs him back to bed when he shifts. He's also got serious morning wood, which isn't unusual, but it's ten times more awkward when Gabriel is laying next to him. He grunts, lazily readjusts his pants before rolling over on his side and pushing his face into the welcoming heat of Gabriel's chest. There's the tiniest bit of chest hair peeking over the curve of the sweater, and Jesse shifts his face slightly up to nuzzle it with his nose.

_This is my life._ Jesse thinks. Waking up with a hangover, a boner, and his boss nestled against his side.  
He'd be lying if he said he wasn't enjoying it, just a bit.

He lays like this, side by side with Gabriel, until his boss' eyes flutter open, and Jesse feels his head move to glance down at Jesse, who is well aware his mouth is open and drooling a spot onto Gabriel's sweater. 

“Jesse...” Gabriel sighs, jerking his shoulder so Jesse's head falls unceremoniously off. “Jesus, control your mouth.”

Jesse lets out a pained chuckle, pushing two fingers to his temple and rubbing out the pain that resides there. “Yeah, yeah. Hey...” Like a brat, he elbows Gabriel in the side. “You know, I can control my mouth _pretty damn well._ ” 

There it is. An impulsive comment and suddenly, the whole room is full of a hot, thick tension, and Jesse feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. He rolls over on his side, teeth digging into his lip as the silence between them drags out for an eternity. Words don't break it: instead, Gabe lets out a grunt and sits up.

“Move. I need to get ready.” Gabe mutters, and Jesse feels his heart sink into his stomach. He doesn't reply, just tucks his legs up close to his stomach and gives Gabe room to slide past him. There's a soft rustle as Gabe picks up his boots before he strides out of the room.

Jesse blinks, then winces as the flutter of his eyelashes pulls out all the pain from his hangover. He turns and groans, fingers pressing into the side of his pillow as he drags it over his head. He feels disappointed and angry at himself—but also confused. Sure, the comment was an impulsive innuendo while they were sharing a bed, but it still didn't seem like a bad enough comment to have Gabe just leave without a word.

He forces himself to remember last night—bits and pieces, sluggish memories. The drinks, the dancing, the kiss—

Oh _fuck._

That's what he messed up. A drunken kiss, probably followed by a bunch of sappy drunken rambling. He pushes the pillow harder over his head, half-hoping he'll suffocate himself so he doesn't have to deal with the consequences of his (albeit drunken) actions.

It was just a mistake—right? A simple mistake born from a little too much alcohol. It wasn't like Jesse thought about this often—the idea of kissing those slightly chapped, plush lips, dipping his fingers into the concave of Gabe's cheekbones as their foreheads press together... 

Dammit.

So he's been in love with his commander for years. It doesn't mean that Gabe had to know that, he could easily play it off as he was completely drunk. Drunk enough that he had surpassed his real feelings and just gone to the next stage—just being a complete fool.

Jesse's headache was worsening from the situation, and he lets out a soft whimper as he shifts and his brain rolls inside his skull and his dick presses hot and heavy against his leg. He takes it back—this isn't enjoyable. Enjoyable would be if Gabe had reciprocated the kiss, or maybe just _ignored it._ Then they could be laying on the bed together, doing the same tango of joking and subtle touches they've been doing for years.

Jesse stare soulfully up at the ceiling, desperate for Gabe to come back but not willing to swing his feet off the bed and follow after him. Instead, he pulls a classic impulsive Jesse move—he slides his hand right down his pants and lets out a relieved groan as his fingers squeeze around his cock. Frustration, spurned by his unpleasant situation, gives him a good excuse to masturbate. It's not for Gabe, he tells himself, it's just him blowing off steam.

His hand finds a good, steady pace that has him digging his toes into the bed and letting out his breath in small little huffs. Fuck Overwatch and Blackwatch, that's causing them all so much stress. Fuck all the alcohol he consumed last night, that's making every tug of his cock way more sensitive than it should be. And fuck—his own feelings, which are _definitely_ not the real reason he's tugging at the edge of his foreskin with two fingers, inhaling heavily as his hips jerk from the contact.

Sliding his hand down a little farther, he cup his balls and gives them a light squeeze, the sensation delightful. Moving his head sideways to settle against one of his pillows, he speeds his hand up as it travels back over his shaft, little bit of precum leaking out, dribbling onto his fingers and making the rush of his hand over skin all the easier. He lets out a low keen as his thumb catches the very edge of a sensitive spot near the tip of his head, his eyes squeezing shut as he searches for release. He's close, body winding up like a corkscrew, and he focuses on everything except—

Gabe, _Gabe_ suddenly flashes in his mind, of Gabe pulling a sweat-stained tanktop over his head after training. Powerful back muscles and a soft acknowledgment of “You got in some good swings today.” 

Jesse cums with Gabe's name right behind his lips as he makes a mess of his pants, and everything he was seeking to escape comes crashing down on him as he slumps into his bed, hand sticky, head pounding, and eyes squeezed shut in shame and exhaustion.

He had it bad, and no matter how much he wanted to convince himself that he was alright with whatever he and Gabe were, he wasn't able to. No, he wanted to be with Gabe right now, heading past the usual banter and pressing soft kisses to his cheeks, assuring him that everything would be alright. Gabe had walls built up, ones he kept in place in order to continue acting as a black-op commander, and while Jesse understood, he just wanted _past them._ He had gotten so far, but not far enough if one kiss was enough to make Gabe flee the room.

Jesse Mccree wanted Gabriel Reyes to know that he wasn't going to be afraid of whatever was kept secure behind those walls, that no matter _what_

_no matter fucking what_

that he would follow Gabe to the ends of the earth.

**Author's Note:**

> mcreyes is my JAM and i'm finally glad to be starting this fic~ it's gonna have some serious canon divergence and angst soon, but for now...enjoy some character building <3
> 
> thanks to http://archiveofourown.org/users/twistedcaliber for thinking up the beanie part. it's too cute <3
> 
> go check out their current fanfic, it's so good esp if you like mcreyes >:3c


End file.
